


crowning moment

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Canon-typical apocalypse, Gen, M/M, Post-Episode 160, Season/Series 04, Tags Contain Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 15:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: When the thunder first starts, Martin thinks it’s just a coincidence.(A write-up of the final scene in episode 160, from Martin's perspective.)





	crowning moment

**Author's Note:**

> so uh. yeah. how about that finale, right. i wrote this in three hours last night in a fevered haze and then edited it this morning.

When the thunder first starts, Martin thinks it’s just a coincidence; some bad luck on what has, relatively speaking, been a pretty good day. Remembering the urban legend about cows sitting down before rain, he peers at the wind-beaten green fields he passes. In another life, Martin thinks, he’d have liked to have lived out here in the middle of nowhere. It’s the kind of place that might have inspired poetry in his heart once upon a time, beautiful and desolate in turns.

It would be sensible to go back to the safehouse and huddle up under some ratty old blankets, but If Martin turned around now, he’d have to listen to Jon, uh,  _ eat. _ It’s morbidly fascinating to observe, but the thing is, Martin has had rather enough of morbid fascination for one lifetime.

Instead, he starts down the road to the nearby village. Maybe its quaint little shop sells umbrellas. At the very least, he can pick up some of those biscuits Jon likes.

The thunder starts getting worrying a few minutes later. It doesn’t stop to let lightning have its turn, going on and on with no end. All Martin’s efforts to tune it out only result in a creeping unease up his spine. There’s no sign of rain from the dull grey clouds above. The wind gets fiercer and fiercer until he’s having to clutch his jacket tight around himself to stay warm.

_ It’s fine, _ Martin tells himself, a little too forceful. He’s just got apocalypse on his mind, that’s all. 

The village, at least, is normal — as quiet as it always is. Martin exchanges a “Funny weather we’re having, huh?” with a pleasant old lady who doesn’t judge him too hard for being English. She politely offers him shelter in her house if he gets caught in the nonexistent rain, and he does his best to smile as he peers up at the sky.

The thunder is building, a rumbling crescendo that drowns everything else out. It almost sounds like static. And then—

_ And then—  _

The sky  _ breaks. _ It’s like a thousand mirrors shattering, an acrid crack of lightning tearing the clouds apart until nothing is left. Martin is staring into pitch-black eternity as the ground crawls up his legs and tries to pull him into the earth. He can’t breathe. He’s going to die.

The sky  _ blinks. _ It presses downwards with bloodshot scleras and irises of all colours imaginable. They stare down at the world with possessive fervour, and their infinite pupils are all fixated on Martin. He feels flayed open, his every secret revealed to the world, but— he can breathe again. He is torn apart by the piercing terror of being known, but he can breathe.

As the world starts going to hell, he runs.

_ Jon. _

Martin doesn’t know how he manages to get back, to be honest. Everywhere he turns, there’s some fresh terror — the old woman with spiderwebs pulling at her limbs; the cows turned sharp-horned and predatory; fog creeping over the diseased green of the fields. Somehow, he reaches the safehouse in one piece, dizzy with panic and exertion. It feels like three years ago: Martin trapped, alone and helpless, facing a world that wants nothing more than to hurt him.

_ Jon. _

He finds Jon passed out on the sofa where Martin had left him. His eyes are half-lidded, his body limp and cold. There’s a file fallen to the ground, written in familiar elegant cursive. Jon doesn’t respond when Martin shakes him, doesn’t respond when Martin shouts and sobs. 

It’s a whim of adrenaline that leads Martin to slap Jon, but it works. Jon blinks awake, dazed and bewildered. In any other situation, his sleepy expression might be sweet.

“Martin?”

“Jon!” Martin tries not to let his relief show on his face. Whatever’s happened, Jon isn’t dead.

“Wh— What— Oh god.” Lucidity seems to hit Jon all at once, his gaze as piercing as the sky above. Martin wavers on his feet, clinging to Jon’s shirt with a shaking hand. “What happened?”

“I don’t— I don’t know. Everything— It’s all gone wrong.” Martin can’t even summon the energy to hate himself for crying. The lump in his throat is a welcome relief from pure instinctual terror.

“Help me up,” Jon demands, letting out a pained groan when Martin pulls him to his feet. He sways as he takes one step towards the door, then another. There’s no resistance when Martin grasps at his shirt-sleeve, tugging him back to the centre of the room.

“No, no, no, don’t— don’t go outside.” Jon nods, very slightly, turning towards a window. Martin follows; there’s nothing else he can do. “It’s— it’s  _ real bad.” _

Jon doesn’t speak as he steps towards the glass, as close as he can get without touching. He stares at the nightmare of their world, eyes wide and lips parted on hitching breath.

_ “Oh god.” _

“I d— I don’t know if it’s just  _ here, _ or if it’s—”

“No,” Jon interrupts, and his voice is hoarse. “No, it’s everywhere. They’re all here now. I can feel…” Jon trails off. His gaze is distant, yet somehow more focused than Martin has ever seen it. When he gathers his words, there’s something almost reverential to his tone. “All of it.”

Is this the moment where Martin finally loses Jon to the things that run their lives to ruin? After everything that they’ve been through? It would be a hell of a pyrrhic victory — Jon, alive and safe and  _ monstrous _ as the world collapses around them.

Martin reaches down and takes Jon’s hand, squeezing the scarred flesh so tightly it must hurt.

“Jon, I’m scared.”

Jon doesn’t even look at him. His lips curve upwards involuntarily  _ (please let it be involuntary) _ with a flash of nicotine-stained teeth. He is angry and amused and awed all at once, looking out of the window with eyes that consume everything they see.

“The whole world is afraid, Martin,” the smile widens, bitter with resignation and self-loathing, “because of me. And the Watcher drinks it  _ all _ in.”

Jon looks more and more inhuman with every moment that passes. His eyes are aglow, his gaze undeniable. It is a fact in a world of fear and falsehood, and it eclipses every other part of him. It’s very hard to look away.

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand again, a silent plea.  _ Don’t lose yourself, _ Martin wishes he could say,  _ I only just got to know you properly. _

“Jon?”

Jon’s gaze turns upwards, matching the stare of that ever-watching sky. His smile is half-hysteria, half-worship, and it terrifies Martin as much as the apocalypse.  _ Please, _ Martin thinks, but he can’t find his voice.

“Look at the sky, Martin. Look at the  _ sky.” _ Jon is outright grinning now, though tears stream down his face. His voice is pitching into a manic delirium. “It’s looking  _ back.” _

With that proclamation, Jon begins to laugh, high-pitched and hyperventilating. Somewhere along the way, the sounds turn to sobs. Jon’s forehead hits the warping glass of the window as he shakes and shakes. Martin finds himself running a hand across Jon’s back, trying to soothe a man who will probably never be soothed again. This, at least, is familiar.

He lets Jon laugh, and he lets Jon cry, the sounds blurring together until Martin can’t tell the difference anymore. They’re together, Martin tells himself, trying to pretend it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> as always, you can find me at [screechfoxes](https://screechfoxes.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
